“Didn’t you say anything to her about breaking cover?” Phule pressed, ignoring the question.
Brandy shrugged. “Not that I recall.”
Phule started to snap something angrily, then caught himself.
“All right,” he said stiffly. “I want you to get her aside … pin her ears back for me. Understand?”
“No, I don’t, sir,” the top sergeant said, perching on the edge of the room’s dresser in a pose much more in keeping with her old Legion manner. “Just what is it she’s done that’s supposed to be wrong?”
“Are you kidding?” the commander snarled. “She stepped in on a fight and jeopardized her whole cover as a cocktail waitress.”
“I don’t think so, Captain,” Brandy countered. “The way I heard it, she just bopped him with a tray-didn’t use any of the nasty stuff she’s been trained in.”
“The man’s in the clinic with a concussion,” Phule said pointedly.
“So? He got drunk and tried to pick a fight in a bar-and a casino bar at that. I don’t think it’s out of line that he got roughed up a little. You think that real waitresses can’t get mean if you start acting up?”
“Usually they call for security,” the commander argued. “They don’t wade into it themselves when there are two security guards sitting right there.”
“-who couldn’t do anything without it looking like they were overreacting to a minor incident,” Brandy added. “Seriously, Captain, would you really expect the Gnat to stand there looking helpless while someone slapped Tusk-anini around? You know how close they are … and about the Gnat’s temper.”